


Chris McLean in Bulgaria

by Master_of_the_Boot1



Category: Total Drama (Cartoon)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Border Crossing, Bottom Chris, Bulgaria - Freeform, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, immature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29709723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Master_of_the_Boot1/pseuds/Master_of_the_Boot1
Summary: Karma visits Chris McLean on a trip to a remote border crossing in Eastern Europe.





	Chris McLean in Bulgaria

**Author's Note:**

> This contains extreme violence and two gay Bulgarians. 
> 
> This is going to be a "punish Chris" fic. 
> 
> So enjoy or don't. Read and review. Reviews are life to me.

Chris in Bulgaria

Bodgan grunted, spitting out his stump of a cigarette and grabbing his two most precious items. Stepping out of his modest BMW van, he carried his thermos of coffee and his lunch box. In the early morning rain, the night guard walked out of the Border Crossing office without so much as a by your leave.

Stepping into the Customs office that stood on the border of Bulgaria and Romania, Bodgan grunted and poured himself a cup of coffee. Already there, early as usual was his coworker. “Hey Ivo, any news on the Ridonculous race?”

Ivo didn’t look up from the gay porn magazine splashed with Russian letters and Russian cum. “Episode was cancelled today. The race went onto a some rich guy’s private pedophile island and it all went south from there. The show may be cancelled.”

“Mother fucker!” Bogdan choked on his coffee. “What the fuck? It was just getting good?”

“Yeah yeah, get it out of your system, Bogi,” Ivo turned to another page where a couple of Russian soldiers were spit roasting a Ukrainian twink with their horse cocks. “But if it makes you feel any better I got a bunch of DVD’s of the original Total Drama Island; not just bootlegs but real licensed disks.”

“Where the hell did you get those?” Bogdan asked as he adjusted his weathered, Soviet Era swivel chair. The fair haired Bulgarian picked up a disk and didn’t wait to rip open the plastic wrapping and stick it into their ancient, scratched DVD player with a VCR built in.

“I got a cousin in Macedonia, her wife hooked us up. They’ll even play in our area of the world.”

“Fucking yes,” Bogdan’s eyes lit up as the familiar intro music of Total Drama Island began to play.

The mood was cut short as a car pulled up to the crossing, stopping just at the large metal barrier. “You get that.” Bodgan said.

“No, you get it,” Ivo put down his porn mag and grabbed the duct taped remote control for the DVD player. “I got the damn discs, I’ll even pause it for you.”

“Fuck!" Bogdan slammed down his cup of coffee and stormed out of the customs office. Storming to the rusted out shit box of a car, he grabbed the billy club strapped to his side and adjusted his officer’s cap. “Paper’s please!” He shouted at the driver.

The window rolled down and a man feening for a drug fix gave what was once a charming grin. “Hey there, comrade! How’s tricks! My passport’s all in order here! I’m just your average American tourist going fly fishing on the Treska River in Macedonia!”

Bogdan didn’t care as he snatched the brand new passport out of the man’s hands. Opening up he was about to grab the stamp in his pocket and send this fool on his way when he noticed something. His eyes narrowed.

The passport was brand new but the picture was taken many years before. Long before the man in the rusted out Gremlin had stringy, greasy hair, crackhead lips or sunken meth eyes. In the passport photo he was conventionally handsome and beautiful and if he were anyone else Bogdan would love to throat fuck him all night long.

But it was the name. The damn name that really got Bogdan's attention. His hand went from reaching to the stamp in his pocket to the gun he carried with him.

“You’re Chris McLean?” he asked in rough, accented English. “Were you by any chance on Total Drama Island? And you used to make movies about talking cats?”

This flattered Chris’s ego, which was in sore need of massaging. “Oh you got me! Yup, it’s me! Chris McLean, world famous actor and reality TV superstar!”

That was all he needed to know, “Thank you for clearing that up. Get out of the car.” he ordered coldly.

“Uh, you want an autograph?” Chris became nervous and started chewing on his chapped, cracked lips.

“Yeah, something like that.” He turned to the customs office. _“ Ivo! Get your ass out here!”_ he shouted in his native Slavic language.

“What!” Ivo shouted from the customs office, having already started the first season of Total Drama. In extreme annoyance he opened the window. _ “What is it?!”_

_“It’s Chris McLean from Total Drama Island!”_ He shouted in Bulgarian, _“It’s him! Let’s work this fucker for all he did to Duncan and Alejandro!”_

_“ Hold on!”_ Ivo yelled back in Slavic, _“ I’ll get the pitchfork and the fruit knife!” _

“Is there a problem?” Chris’s eyes shifted around as he considered how easy or not it would be to just drive through the checkpoint. “Because I can give that guy an autograph too.”

“Get out of the car, this is a random search.” Bogdan pulled the gun out of his pocket and flicked the safety off.

“Hey man, you don’t understand!” Chris screeched, “I need to get past this checkpoint and into Macedonia! I swear I’m innocent! I’m only going fly fishing on the Treska river!”

However the barrel of a gun was a very convincing argument as Chris whimpered and stepped out of his car. He screamed in protest and demanded a lawyer as Bodgan threw a set of brand new handcuffs on him.

Ivo meanwhile walked over to them with a rusty pitchfork and a fruit knife. _“When I’m doing with you, I’ll make sure you’ll never be able to take a non-painful shit ever again. This one is for Sierra and Sky.”_

Ignoring the squawking from Chris, Ivo opened the door and started slashing open the driver’s seat; the pitchfork temporarily leaning against the side of the vehicle. To his surprise, Ivo’s dull fruit knife hit something hard. “What the?”

“No! No! No!” Chris begged as he tried to make a run for it, only for Bogdan to slam him in the back of the head with his pistol.

Ripping through the driver’s seat and pushing away yellow foam, Ivo produced a giant, plastic wrapped block of counterfeit money. _“Holy shit!”_ he gasped.

Chris begged and cried. “Please! They’ll kill me if I don’t deliver! I’m broke, I need a fix! Please guys, have a heart! I haven’t had any ketamine in two days. I’m feening!”

Going into the backseat, Ivo began slashing open the threadbare upholstery. Even now he wasn’t prepared for about forty bricks of cocaine to fall out and onto the floor of the Gremlin.

Now it was Bogdan’s turn to be impressed. _“Holy fuck! There’s a King’s Ransom worth of shit here!”_

That wasn’t even it as Ivo started ripping open the back of the two front seats and hundreds of packs of smuggled cigarette cartons fell out.

That was all they needed to see.

“Fishing on River Treska?” Bogdan laughed. “Sorry Chris, I hope you have some money left over for a good lawyer.”

“Please! I’ll suck your dicks!” Chris sobbed.

Only for Ivo to thrust the pitchfork right into his face. Chris screamed as the rusty tines punched through his cheeks. Ivo thrust back and forth with the pitchfork until they could see Chris’s teeth through the holes.

Chris screamed bloody murder as spit and blood ran down his shirt.

“Now work the crotch!” Bogdan demanded.


End file.
